The Diamond Dealer
Our story takes place well over a hundred years ago in Czarist, pre-Communist Russia, a vast expanse of territory populated largely by trees, hungry bears, wildflowers, patches of tundra, and the occasional wretched village, home to poor, hollow-eyed denizens and their gaggles of unkempt, ragamuffin children.
In one of these villages, there lived a certain Rabbi, a Sage, who spent his days traveling from outpost to outpost, visiting the sick, comforting mourners of those who had poassed on, distributing charity and alms to beggars, and so on---and, oh yes, challenging the Almighty, on a daily basis, to do better for His 'Chosen People.' As he wended his way across Russia's less-than-Promised-Land, this saintly figure might be heard to plead: "If you, the Holy One, Blessed be He, the King of King of Kings, would give poor Mot'l or Old Zusia a gold zloty or two, or even a ten-ruble note once in a while, would Heaven be any less comfortable?" ...
One evening, on one of his treks across the barren steppes of Mother Russia's heartland, Reb Sholom Ber, for that was how he was known far and wide, chanced to spot a certain inn, one whose bright lights beckoned him from afar. As he drew closer, the itinerant traveling Rabbi saw that the lights heralded a bustle of activity inside. Crossing the threshold, Reb Shalom Ber beheld a broad, sturdy table on which were spread precious gemstones of every variety imaginable. For our protagonist had walked into the display area of a diamond dealer's convention.
Now you, discerning reader, may well be wondering how a Rabbi from a poor town had the means to afford to lodge overnight at an inn fancy enough to host a convention of wealthy diamond dealers. If you are, indeed, wondering that, and if you want to ask me that very question---well, I would have to reply that your question is much, much better than any answer I might possibly give you, my friend. So now let us return to our protagonist and the (diamond) convention at hand. ...
...The Rabbi picked out one of the dealers and strode right up to him. The merchant, however, beat Reb Shalom Ber to the punch, posing this quesiton: "You know, Rabbi," he said. "I often wonder about you, undertaking such arduous journeys for a handful of poverty-stricken Jews scatterd all over the hinterlands. Why is it that you devote yourself so to all these coarse, rough-and-tumble villagers, upon whom you bestow countless favors and blessings? Removing his broad-brimmed hat, revealing a modest skullcap, the Sage responded by pointing to the largest diamond on the table before him, saying: "And this, Reb Yankel, is such a large gemstone. It must be worth a fortune."
To which the merchant cheerily replied, glad of the chance to show off: "Quite the contrary, Reb Shalom Ber. This diamond is nearly worthless. A closer examination will reveal numerous flaws and defects." Then, reaching into his velvet-covered case, the diamond dealer withdrew a tiny stone, which caught the sun just so, producing a light dazzling in its intensity. "Here, examine this one," the merchant gestured, inviting the Rabbi to stand right next to him."You won't be able to find the slightest imperfection, try as you might." As the Sage turned the miniature gem over and over in his aged hands, the merchant nodded knowingly. "See what I mean, Rabbi? Remarkable, isn't it?" Reb Yankel looked Rabbi Shalom Ber right in the eye, proudly proclaiming: "You see, Rabbi, in order to properly identify and evaluated diamonds and other gems, one needs vast expertise. It takes years and years of training and practice."
The Sage nodded knowingly. "And so too it is with Jews, Reb Yankel. It takes years of training, years of practice, to become an expert --- to properly identify and select the diamonds from among the rest of the gems.
... Legend has it that Reb Yankel became a fervent disciple of Reb Shalom Ber.
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